come with me to a different historia
by drinktea
Summary: They will always come together, be it through laughter, tears, meddling companions or just very fickle cats. A grab bag of stories on Serah and Noel's relationship played out in alternate universes. AU #2: tsubasa reservoir chronicle/lightning returns crossover, "muscle memory".
1. your lord and saviour, jesus kreiss

Notes: My first foray into AU Noerah and it's the most ridiculous setting I could've chosen. Also, this is VERY INCOMPLETE. I consulted some of the Noerah community on tumblr and they urged me to post my incomplete Noerah stories despite there being no end in sight for them/ a lot of openendedness. They're all going in this collection. Though some may be given endings, most will not. It's the product of my Very Busy life and still loving Noerah too much post-series end- c'est la vie.

Before we begin, here's your fair warning for hints of Hope/Light, alcohol consumption and _uhm_ , male stripping. Here we go, AU number one!

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 **+ come with me to a different historia +**

 **1\. military AU (or; your lord and saviour, jesus kreiss)**

"Can you explain again why we're here?"

Serah has to admit that even though they're sisters, and even though they've been living together their whole lives, Lightning's voice strikes abject fear into her heart. "Lebreau wanted some female bonding time? I think she said she's sick of all the testosterone-fuelled competition at work."

Lightning's gaze doesn't waver. But her hand does twitch itself into a fist. Serah thinks about just grabbing her sister's hand and high-tailing it out of here before Lightning injures someone, but then she'd never hear the end of it from Lebreau, and she'd be playing mediator for weeks between Lebreau and Lightning...

"It _is_ the military. The population is pretty much 75% male. You can't blame her for wanting some girl time," Serah argues feebly, her words twining together with the whooping coming from inside the building.

Lightning inclines her head to hide her expression-which Serah guesses is becoming murderous.

"Then why the hell are we standing in front of a _male strip club_?"

"Because we love to turn gender stereotypes on their heads, of course," Lebreau's distinctive chirp comes. Ah, the girl of the hour arriveth.

Lightning's head snaps back up so quickly Serah's not sure if she hasn't given herself whiplash. " _Lebreau_ ," Lightning quietly hisses in a tone usually reserved for murderous sycophants, "you promised a stress-free evening of wine and movies. Is this your idea of a sick joke?"

Not put off in the least by Lightning, Lebreau blithely shrugs. "I was going to pick _Magic Mike_ and its sequel on Netflix anyway, so it's really just the same," she explains.

Serah feels herself growing more nervous the more agitated Lightning becomes, because the more agitated Lightning becomes, the more smug Lebreau becomes.

"I brought us a giant stack of 10 gil notes. And drinks are on me for the whole night," Lebreau says, smoothing things over in her Lebreau way. She winks at the Farron sisters. "I know a bartender."

Lightning pinches the bridge of her nose. "First, watching a movie about male strippers is _not_ the same as going to a male strip club. Second, you _know_ Serah doesn't drink. And third, you assume that we'll actually participate by tucking 10 gil notes into these guys' pants? I don't think so."

Lebreau hitches her purse over her shoulder in the prissiest way she can, a move Serah and Lebreau know Lightning subconsciously despises. Lightning hates purses.

" _Claire_ ," Lebreau says- Lightning also hates being called by her real name- "First, of course it's not, it's _better_. Second, you can be sure I'll shower your sister with the best virgin drinks money can buy. And third, of course I don't expect you to tuck gil into their pants- I expect you to smilingly tuck it into their underwear." She tops off her declaration with a self-satisifed grin. The cheers from inside echo her sentiment.

"Over my dead body."

Serah's eyes dart back and forth nervously between the two, sure that her blood pressure is the highest out of them all. "Girls! Why don't we just go to a normal bar tonight?"

Lebreau rounds herself on Serah. "You can't do anything at a _bar_! Except get hit on by guys. And you, Serah, especially can't do anything in bars since you don't drink. You can't even drink to forget the awful pick up lines everyone tries out on you. At least at _Pulse_ you can ogle hot men dancing."

Serah feels her cheeks flame at just the name of the place. What kind of name is _Pulse_ anyway? She squeaks out, "But what if I don't want to see- uh, dancing?"

Lebreau just does her best you-are-an-absolute-drag face. "Serah. You need to experience _life_. You're 24 and you haven't even had a boyfriend! Shiva knows those genes of yours are going to waste. I'm not saying you scope out a stripper. I'm just saying, _live a little_!"

Feeling thoroughly chastised, Serah shrinks. It's not her fault that she's never had a boyfriend. She just has bad luck with men. Like, _really_ bad. The last guy she liked was gay, she was pretty sure.

"And you, Miss Holier Than Thou," Lebreau turns to Lightning, who is now looking disinterestedly off to the side, "You're even worse than Serah. I know you've been struggling with Hope lately. The whole goddamn platoon knows you like each other! What's stopping you from just going out for coffee?"

Lightning coughs. "That's unrelated to the here and now."

"You like Hope?" Serah zeroes in on her sister's face- which is slowly turning pink. "Why didn't you tell me? We're practically best friends."

"What? I thought Vanille was his best friend. Or Alyssa. Elida and he are pretty close too," Lebreau posits outloud.

Ignoring the questioning of the depth of her and Hope's friendship (they _are_ close, dammit), Serah turns to observe her sister. With each female name that leaves Lebreau's lips, Serah watches her sister deflate. The gears in her head start turning... and really? Lightning? Lightning seems like the last person to feel insecure around other women, but it sure is looking like she's stumbled upon the truth because Lighting uncharacteristically says-

"Come on, let's get this over with." And off she stalks toward the main entrance. The men checking ID by the door don't even bother trying to intercept her.

Lebreau gives a whoop of joy, promptly forgets what they were talking about and bounces on after Lightning, pulling Serah along by the wrist. "This is going to be so much fun!"

After Lightning secures them a table right in front of the stage through her superpower of glaring, the three women settle down. Lightning promptly downs half of her glass of complimentary (again, glaring can get you a lot) wine.

Serah pushes her glass toward Lebreau. "I don't think giving her more alcohol is a good idea," she whispers.

"Ten-four," Lebreau whispers back. She takes a misleadingly delicate sip of her wine.

"I heard that," Lightning's voice makes them both flinch.

Serah chooses to trample the moment underfoot by talking about anything else. "So, why are there no... men on stage?"

Lebreau lets out a breathy chuckle and digs through her purse for the 10 gil notes. "Eager, aren't we? I'm sure this is just a break between acts. Ah ha!"

The stack of money lands on the table in front of Serah. It's _a lot_ more than she'd thought Lebreau would bring. She tries to push it back to Lebreau like it's horribly diseased. "I'm not going to be tucking anything into anyone's underwear tonight, thanks!"

Lebreau just fans out the notes in front of her face like a scheming CEO. Serah can practically visualize the fluffy white cat at Lebreau's side and the cigar poised between her lips. "But Serah, it's only polite. If you don't, they may just think you're a tough customer and pull you up on stage."

Serah blanches at the thought, but holds firm. "Y-you can't scare me like that. No such thing will happen. You're just making things up!"

"Yeah, like you were making up Yuj's sexuality," Lebreau snorts.

Serah's face flames red in two seconds flat. "Just because a guy has great hair and nice skin does not mean you can just assume he's gay!"

"But he is," Lebreau drawls.

Serah is just about ready to stand up and leave for the bathroom to stitch together the shreds of her dignity in private when Lightning interrupts.

"More drinks, anyone?" she asks in between giving directives to a statuesque waitress. The waitress already looks to have three drinks slated to arrive at their table.

Serah waffles in between ordering a virgin margarita and an alcoholic one, just because of this night. After taking a deep breath, she says, "Virgin margarita."

The waitress points at Serah with her pencil in acknowledgement and jots it down. Then Lebreau orders a bellini and the waitress writes that down too. "Anything else?"

"How do you get a lap dance?" Lebreau asks. Serah almost implodes from embarrassment at how gung-ho Lebreau is about _everything_ this place has to offer. She spots Lightning narrowing her eyes at their oblivious friend.

"You see someone you like, you can ask for 'em by name if they're not working on stage. We take you to a different room fer that. You want one?" the waitress asks not Lebreau, but _Serah_ , smirking as she does so.

"No!" Serah nearly yells, clapping her hands over her face, just as Lebreau bursts into laughter.

Lebreau gives a wink. "Oh, don't worry. We'll find someone soon," she says, sending the waitress off.

Lightning is glaring the absolute crap out of Lebreau as the overexcited woman sits down, but she doesn't say anything, just goes back to swirling the little bit of wine left in her glass.

Serah is an overheated mess at her place between them both. Her head is in her hands and she's slouched over the table, staring a hole into the metal. Just _what_ is she _doing_ here? She really should have known that Lebreau wouldn't let her get away with politely watching the wallpaper in lieu of watching the men. She is actually going to have stuff 10 gil notes into underwear and potentially be danced on by a half naked man! This is just way too far out of her wheelhouse. She teaches _teenagers_ , for Etro's sake. She's sure that in the past week she hasn't come into contact with anyone who could even possess _chest hair_.

Music starts playing to the delight of the crowd (apparently) because there is a loud collection of whooping. An announcer helpfully informs them that the performer coming out on stage is named Phallic Phil- Serah's jaw drops- just as the man himself arrives on stage in a vest, cowboy boots, cowboy hat, chaps and what appears to be a thong- Serah closes her mouth.

"Alright, Phil!" Lebreau hollers, apparently already enjoying herself.

"Etro help me," Lightning mutters, tucking into her wine again.

Serah watches abashedly as Phil is joined by four other men and they do a group number that involves a lot of grinding on a fence. Then the other men rip off their chaps and throw their hats into the crowd. Lebreau catches one and puts it on her head without missing a beat.

The other men retreat, leaving Phil to do some more solo dancing on stage. Eventually he's buck naked aside from the thong and boots and Serah can't take her eyes away from him. It's like some kind of weird, sexy train wreck.

Serah feels Lebreau stuff some gil into her hand and drops it like it's hot coals.

"What? You're obviously into it," Lebreau cackles. Lebreau then takes a giant gulp of her bellini- when did that arrive?- and Serah realizes that she's been caught red-handed. So when Phil dances in front of their table, she stuffs some notes into his thong without trying to touch his skin at all. Lebreau watches her the entire time and Serah gets the urge to tell her dear friend to shove it.

Phil doesn't approach Lightning, just gyrates his merry way to off-stage. Lightning must have bared her teeth at the guy or have activated some forcefield. Serah notices her sister currently attending to a wall of three drinks or different colour and consistency, but doesn't ask. That doesn't mean that tomorrow morning she isn't getting the interrogation of her life regarding Hope, but for tonight Serah will let her be. (And it's totally not because Lightning is a really aggressive drunk. Totally.)

And... it's totally not because at the moment there is another man coming out on stage who has made her throat dry up already. He's dressed in what looks like garb you'd wear to do martial arts and has a longstaff as a prop. She eyes the staff with half trepidation and half expectancy. What has really caught her attention is the way he walks- there's so much certainty. When he does something it stays done.

He seems to be popular because before anything is even said, loud cheers come from the left of the room. Serah idly wonders if it's even a thing to be a regular at a strip club while the announcer booms over the loudspeaker that they should welcome Karate Kreiss. She whoops absentmindedly and misses the funny look Lebreau sends her way.

Kreiss immediately falls into form with a high kick and a loud shout. Then there's a lot of acrobatics across the stage that do a good job of getting everyone excited. He starts fanning himself in a slow, sexy sort of way and she actually hears someone yelling at him to _take it off!_ , but before he can do anything, another man comes onstage and starts slashing at him with the pole. Eventually he's stuck bending lower and lower, a schtick to get him to show off his flexibility. Then when Kreiss seems victorious, the assailant produces double swords and starts slashing at him. His costume gets nicked a few times strategically, and he slowly rips off more and more damaged fabric- sleeves first, then the whole top goes, then his belt gets slashed and his pants fall (to everyone's delight ((Lebreau actually screams))). He emerges the winner when he gets the swords out of his opponent's hands and points them at the guy. The whole room cheers. The cheers get louder when he goes to another area of the set to "take a shower" after a long fight and is doused enticingly in water.

As he approaches their table, still dripping water from his very nice hair and doing a lot of body rolls, she just sits and watches dazedly. Absurdly, she notices that he is very handsome and happens to have pretty eyes. Lebreau just stuffs about half of the money she brought into his underwear completely shamelessly.

He walks away, splashing the girls next to them (they scream in delight), and Serah doesn't even realize how concentrated she is on staring at his butt until Lebreau rudely awakens her- " _Oh_ my _God_ , Serah. Wipe the drool off the floor already!"

Serah remembers her dignity, dragging somewhere along behind Kreiss, patiently awaiting resuscitation. She promptly blushes and takes a long drink of her margarita.

Lebreau lays into her about acting like a schoolgirl half of the time and a strip club zealot the other half. She kind of listens. If she's being honest, she's mostly thinking about Kreiss' blue eyes behind his casually windswept hair. She barely pays attention to the other dancers that come out after and doesn't even care about touching their bodies as she tucks money into their thongs/ speedos. Lebreau gets them both another round of drinks. Lightning's wall of alcohol succumbs over time.

"Okay, you're cut off," Lebreau tells Lightning as the soldier finishes off her fourth drink in the space of two and a half hours. Lightning glares, but must know somewhere in the back of her mind that Lebreau is right, and orders water from the waitress.

Serah orders another virgin margarita and a water. Lebreau switches to white wine and tips her stolen cowboy hat at the waitress in thanks.

"About the lap dances," Lebreau says to the waitress.

The waitress raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow and grins. "Spotted someone you like, huh?" Serah gets the feeling that Lebreau and the waitress are cut from the same cloth.

"Serah," Lightning addresses her, speaking her first voluntary words to someone other than the waitress in over an hour.

Serah turns to her sister. She knows that Lightning can hold her alcohol well, but Lightning must have to pee by now.

Bingo. "Washroom," Lightning says, taking her by the wrist and dragging her onto her feet. Lightning has never been one to follow general girl rules like returning a compliment with another compliment or going to the washroom in pairs, but when she's tipsy she does it all naturally. After they emerge from their respective stalls and wash their hands, Lightning takes out a small tube of hand lotion. It smells like roses and is the only remotely girly beauty product Lightning bothers with.

"Want some?" Lightning offers.

Serah squeezes a small amount onto the back of her hand. "How are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm just glad that I'm not due for training tomorrow," is Lightning's answer.

Serah allows herself a small smile. "Because of all the alcohol you're ingesting or because you'll have to see Hope?"

Lightning sighs. "There's nothing going on between Hope and I."

Serah crosses her arms over her chest a bit haughtily. She only gets this way with those who know her best- so really, only Lightning and Hope. "Well, it sounds like you'd like for there to be something going on... am I wrong?"

Lightning rolls her eyes and starts walking out of the washroom. Just before they enter the strip club again and the background music starts thumping bass, Lightning says, "It's not happening."

The stage is empty when they get back- they must be prepping for another set. This hopefully means that they can leave now and just get late night food before collapsing in their own beds at home. But Lebreau looks even more excitable than the rest of the night (which is saying something) so Serah is certain that none of them are falling asleep before two tonight.

"Get ready to love me forever," Lebreau says by way of greeting. She lifts her wine glass triumphantly and spills some on the floor, but ignores it and takes an equally triumphant gulp.

"You bought us all pet chocobos," Lightning deadpans.

"Nope," Lebreau says perkily.

"We get to leave?" Serah hopes against hope. She's still seeing the flexion and extension of Kreiss' arms in her mind's eye and knows she needs to put some time and distance between this place and herself. And if she can help it, she's fitting some shwarma in that space too.

Lebreau waves that possibility off with a limp wrist. "Nope! I got us all-"

Don't say lap dances. Don't say lap dances, Serah prays.

"- lap dances!" Lebreau squeals.

Lightning bears it all with her typical stoicism. "No," she says.

"Lebreau, _why?_ " Serah gripes.

Lebreau chooses to answer Serah. "Liquid courage. Also, we need to do that _living_ thing we talked about! I know you girls wouldn't do this all without me! Shiva, can you imagine what you'd be doing tonight if I weren't around?"

"Not developing a migraine?" Lightning answers flatly.

"Respecting myself?" Serah hazards a guess.

Lebreau barks out a laugh and rolls her eyes. "Girl, you gave up on that the second you laid eyes on Mister Kreiss." She wiggles her eyebrows at Serah.

"No," Serah gasps, catching on, "Lebreau, you didn't!"

Lebreau straight up cackles like a Disney villain. "I did! Serah, get ready for the second coming because your Lord and Saviour, Jesus Kreiss has arrived!"

" _Shit_ ," Serah mutters under her breath.

Serah somehow gets sheperded into the next room- and just how big is this place anyway?- but to be fair, so does Lightning. And if Lightning can yield to Lebreau's insistence, Serah is a goner. Serah gets plunked into a chair with Lightning and Lebreau in similar chairs a few feet away. A song that Serah grudgingly recognizes as a catchy club beat starts playing, drowning out the fanatical screams coming from the main stage.

"Enjoy, ladies!" their waitress says entirely too happily, while turning on her heel and beating a hasty retreat.

Almost immediately, a trio of men walk into the room. Serah recognizes one as Phil, and of course she notices Kreiss. But the other guy looks mysteriously like...

"You're dead next week in training," she hears Lightning hiss at Lebreau.

Lebreau just laughs loudly. "You're welcome, First Sergeant! _Hope_ you enjoy!"

Before Serah can process what just happened, she feels a hand on her shoulder. She jumps in her seat.

"It's just me," Kreiss says as he circles around her. His voice is s- no, she really can't think any farther. She has to stop noticing things right now because if she doesn't, she will be on sensory overload for the next... like, what? Five minutes? Lap dances can't last any longer than five minutes, right? What more can they do besides dance in front of your lap?

As Serah discovers, _a lot more_.

Kreiss- and is that his real name, she wonders, because it's more likely to be a stage name- definitely knows what he's doing as he walks confidently up to her with long strides. He adjusts his tie before he grabs the arms of her chair and leans into her. "Ready?" he asks. His eyes spark with a hint of a smile and her heart flutters nervously in response.

She gulps, trying to tame her dried out throat. "Listen, I didn't... I didn't ask for this. My friend over there- she just has this weird way of showing us that she cares about our well-being. She thinks that I need to live life or something equally crazy," she rambles. And then she realizes- "I don't know why I told you that. Just, um. Just ignore whatever I said. And what I'm saying now."

Something a little more human breaks through his expression. So far it's just been this sort of staged sexiness, but she notices real sympathy in the arch of his eyebrows and the curve of his mouth. He bends down at the knees to meet her at eye level. "If you're not up for this, I'm good either way, you know," he says sincerely.

She throws her hands out and manages to clip his tie with her fingers. Her eyes are wide with apologies. "No! No, no, that's not what I meant. I'm sure I'd be lucky to have you- what I mean to say is that you don't need to worry because you're very-" Etro, why can't he just interrupt her already and put her out of her misery?

The half smile on Kreiss' face is slowly becoming a full blown one. He finally stops her babbling with a touch to her upper arm. "Mind if I ask for your name?"

She closes her stupid mouth and it turns into a bendy line. Then after a beat, she says, "Serah."

He withdraws his hand and she notices the absence of warmth. "Serah," he says, "I can tell you're uncomfortable. But you're here, and this is no place for second-guessing. It's your choice: yes or no?"

She's struck with the reality that he has not revealed his preference on her decision at all. He's remained perfectly neutral and left the choice to her. But for some reason, she _knows-_ \- just knows- that he has an opinion. He regards her with a bit of a knowing stare, his baby blues almost daring her to make her choice.

When she tells him what she wants, she swears that his answering smile is the sexiest thing she's seen all night.


	2. muscle memory

Notes: General warnings for angst. Written in a spurt subsisting entirely of feels well past midnight. (Also, I realized while I was writing that I blatantly inserted lines from _Swan Princess_? Shoutout to all the _Swan Princess_ people.) I wrote these snippets in the order that they're presented in, just playing around with formatting for maximum heart wrenching.

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 **+ come with me to a different historia +**

 **2\. tsubasa reservoir chronicle/lightning returns crossover AU (or; muscle memory)**

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 **5.**

"Shadow Hunter," her voice cuts through the still air of the cathedral, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

His gaze stays firmly locked on her-not on the fearsome weapon by her side, not on the woman standing behind, protected-on her. On the former seeress. Guarding the harbinger of certain doom. Hundreds of years she's been standing guard, and it hurts not one bit less to see than the first day.

He feels her knowing gaze taking him apart, piece by piece. His jaw set in solid determination, the new catch in his stride thanks to a particularly hardy Dreadnought, his hair grown ever darker in this sunless place. But she doesn't see his heart.

Never his heart.

"Just hoping you've reconsidered," he responds, keeping his arms against his sides. Still, he is ever-conscious of the weight of his swords on his back.

She takes one small step out of the orbit of her would-be protectorate. She looks off to the side in exasperation, the tendons in her neck standing out in the pale light. "Every day you come, and every day you ask the same question."

He smirks. It costs him more than he can feel right now, but appearances matter here. He will feel it later on tonight, lying alone and cold in his bed, right before sleep hits. His dreams will be of this, he already knows.

"I know," he says.

She bites at the end of his sentence, "And every day I give you the same answer."

He looks at her, unblinking. Searching. Her eyes betray not the slightest hint of doubt. She is a pure pillar of belief.

"I'll die first," she hisses.

He deliberately deepens his smirk-all the better to hide his not-unexpected disappointment-and nods. "I've got no more business here then. Serah, Saint," he says by way of farewell. He turns fluidly on his heel to stride out back the way he came.

"Don't come back," she calls to him.

They both know it's futile. He comes every day and nothing will change that. The day he stops is the day they both know the Shadow Hunter's dead.

(As far as he's concerned, Noel Kreiss died 500 years ago.)

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 **4.**

Her patience has been wearing down, closer and closer to snapping. He sees it happening but he's been brought to a stalemate over the years-there's no winning this battle.

So when she leaves the warren, packing her few belongings with her, he knows to anticipate it.

"Serah," he says, right at the boundary line, facing her back. He knew this would happen. He didn't want to believe but the evidence was staring him right in the face-her shorter temper, her dwindling smiles, all in the face of his own muteness. He gulps. For all the time spent wondering the ways this would happen, the when of its happening and the how, he's not prepared. She will always win over him.

He can't help but let her.

She pauses. "I'm leaving," she says, steel in her tone.

He takes a step forward. "Serah, please."

She half-turns and levels a look at him that embodies her entirely: scalding iron will tempered with vulnerability. She tilts her chin up at him in a dare. He can hear an edge of hope in her voice. "Then give me a reason not to."

He shakes his head. The heartache that laces his words makes them ring loud and true. He speaks, feeling that his hands are bound. "You know that I can't do that."

She inclines her head. Her grip on her bow tightens. It's black and silver and it suits her not at all. But it's dangerous.

"I'm joining the Order."

His breath catches in his throat. "Serah, please, no."

She turns in place, ignoring his plea. "I'll find Lightning that way, I know it."

"There are other ways!" he cries.

"Like that stupid Oracle Drive?" she bites back, going for the low blow, "You trust that piece of machinery more than you trust me."

He thinks on the countless nights he's spent combing through the visions, hoping to find one that will answer his problems. He wonders over Yeul's power: could she have seen what would happen after Serah's fall? Wouldn't she know he'd be looking for answers? He is hemmed in on all sides by the both of them- by the reality of one's death, and the death of one's reality.

"Serah, it's not about trust."

Her eyes soften. It is the last time he'll see them so vulnerable, but he doesn't know it now. "It sure feels like it, Noel," she says sadly.

This is a deep ravine, one he cannot cross. It is grown over with magic and secrets and neither of them have the power to overcome it.

She turns away from him and he swears he feels something tear within his chest.

"You know where to find me."

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 **3.**

They're on their way to a new settlement, a place that has gone up in the blink of an eye, a place called Luxerion. Here, the reports cite her appearance-those of a pink-haired Saviour. There can be only one.

Serah's determination to see Lightning again has won out over everything else, so much that she'd blindly throw herself into the proverbial haystack after the needle. She's consistent at the very least. It makes him ache.

They are stopped in a rundown shack when she corners him.

"Who are you to me?" she demands.

He can only shake his head and try to empty his eyes of all emotion.

"Please," she begs, voice cracking, and he hates doing this to her but _there's just no other way_ -"Noel, I know you that you know."

She puts her hands to her face-lovely in every way, even in despair. She presses her lidded eyes, hard, with the pads of her fingers. "Every time I think about the possibilities, my eyes burn," she confesses, voice raw with simmering anger and swimming in tears. "They burn and itch and I want them to just _fall out of my head_. I see afterimages, just flashing across the backs of my eyelids."

He turns away, clenches his jaw.

"I see you. But you're different. And I see me. And I _know_ I'm different."

That almost cracks his resolve.

 _I was your Guardian and you were my Seeress,_ he can picture himself saying, the words tumbling down his tongue uninhibited. _We traveled together, the whole timeline, before time ceased to flow and before Valhalla cloaked the whole world over with darkness._

She takes her hands from her eyes and casts him a look of betrayal, confusion flickering in and out.

 _We were the best team._

Not too long ago, those eyes were full of warmth and serenity. He holds onto that.

"My muscle memory is intact, you know," she says. It comes out like an accusation. She stands defiantly, squares her shoulders as she walks to him. He stands against the window, not realizing his closed off posture until she gets very close. And she's suddenly _very close_.

Athough the sinew wrapping his bones feels taut, she takes his hand easily with a controlled, purposeful hold. She presses their palms together. Slowly, one by one, she links their fingers.

He cannot move.

"This feels natural to me," she whispers, looking down at their joined hands. "Right down to the spacing between your fingers."

His throat constricts, stops the words from escaping: _because it was._

"Noel," she says, and he has never heard his name spoken like this, not with so much pain and desperation and want. It's exhilarating and terrifying and he hates it to his very core.

"Noel, did I love you?"

His eyes are deep, deep blue-near black-and something in them shatters as she speaks the words. He lets himself shed two silent tears before Serah collapses into his waiting arms.

As he waits for her to regain consciousness, the witch's words play over in his mind, a blessing and a curse:

 _She lives. But she will never remember you. You can count on that._

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 **2.**

A miracle.

She is the same. She's lovely, possessing the kind of beauty that lingers in his memory for days. Her eyes are the fairest blue and her skin perfect porcelain. Her memories are all in tact-except, of course, for one.

But the important thing is that she's here. She's alive. She's warm in his arms. The very core of her is the same. And if that's so, who's to say that they can't rebuild?

"What's your name?" she asks, blinking up at him.

He helps her up. He recalls how he introduced himself so long ago to her, on a beach in New Bodhum with the full moon looming. He can either follow that script or break from it. Whatever he does, it has to be honest. He's lived authentically his whole life and he won't stop just because of this new world order. He's only bound by this one law, after all-that her memory of him will never return. They can make new memories. They will. Serah and Noel, Noel and Serah-nothing could fit more right.

Daring to hope, he grins at her. "I'm Noel Kreiss."

* * *

 **1.**

Serah is dead.

He watched her die. Her last words were for him.

It's wrong. It's all wrong, and she cannot be lying in his arms and she cannot _not_ be drawing breath. At the start of this journey he wanted to save the future from a desolate fate. Now he knows he would selfishly give it all up for a girl.

The journey changed him. Changed them both. They grew because of each other and they grew into each other. He thinks back on the nights they spent lying together in the grass under the sky, how sweet the air was and how he wanted to stretch those moments into eternity.

He stares at his hands.

Mog floats desolately over his shoulder. "Kupo," he cries, gem drooping at the sight of Serah.

He whirls on their companion. "Mog, you have magic. You have to know _something_."

Mog's wings barely flap. "Magic can't fix everything," he squeaks.

"Think, Mog! _Think!_ Can't we go back? Can't we find another Historia Crux? Go back in time? Change one less future? _Anything_? Anything so that her visions won't have-so that Serah won't be-she won't be... dead?"

Noel's gaze holds, penetrating. His grip on her grows tighter.

Mog shakes his head.

He takes a deep breath in. He'll find a way. He'll find a way to bring her back if it's the last thing he does.

"Wait!"

He snaps his head up to see Mog bobbing in the air, waving his staff.

"I remember a place! A place you can go to try to save Serah!" he twirls triumphantly in the air.

"Where is it?" he asks, not missing a beat.

"A place where any wish can be granted if an appropriate price is paid."

Noel nods and Mog begins conjuring the magic that slolwly engulfs them all. Noel takes Serah's lifeless body into his arms and hugs her tight.

As the magic begins to take hold and plunges them through the realms, he closes his eyes and whispers a promise into the void.

 _"For Serah, I'll pay anything."_


End file.
